Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“There’s my boy.” Mom wipes her hands and takes quick steps past me to the front door.
“Hey, Savannah.”
I roll my eyes at all of it.
My boy? Pfft …
Slowly turning, I plaster on a fake smile as he releases my mom and grins at me.
“Hey, Josie. I got to thinking about it, and it’s crazy that we didn’t just ride together.”
“Mmm … well, I had no idea you were coming to Vera’s funeral.”
“It was a last-minute decision.”
“As are most deaths.”
Colten’s smile swells a little more, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of admitting that I’m in a snarky mood.
“Take your bags upstairs, you two, then let’s get lunch ready.” Mom heads back to the kitchen.
I grab my bag and head upstairs without giving Colten another glance.
“How’s your back?” Colten asks from my bedroom doorway before I even get my bag deposited onto the bed.
“It’s fine.” I turn, crossing my arms over my chest.
Bruised. Heavily bruised.
“Have you already bitched to your mom about the unfairness of me coming to Vera’s funeral but not my father’s funeral?” he asks, moseying into my room, right to the window that faces his old house and his old bedroom window.
“No.”
“Liar.” He glances over his shoulder at me.
I avert my gaze to my feet. “It is rather insensitive.”
He returns his attention to the window. “Yeah, well, so is fucking around on his family.”
“Funerals are not for the dead; they’re for the living.”
“I know.”
“Yet you didn’t care enough about your mom and brother to show up.”
“I grieved him before he ever died, and nobody planned a fancy gathering to offer their condolences to me. My mom and Chad made excuses. Excuses are lies. They lied. When I made the decision to not come to his funeral, I didn’t lie. I was honest.”
I scoff but don’t follow it up with anything.
Colten turns, eyeing me with suspicion before simply eyeing me everywhere. All men have a signature expression that says they’ve seen you naked. It’s sly and cocky. “I left because you asked me to leave. In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” I say.
“Liar.”
“Stop calling me a liar.”
“Or what?” His wandering gaze snaps to my face. “Are you going to tell on me?”
I sit on the edge of the bed. “I’d like it if you could behave this weekend. My parents don’t need to know that I … slipped.”
“Slipped?” He coughs a laugh. “Are you calling what happened at your house a slip? Like you’re a sex addict and you slipped? Or like you physically slipped and landed on my dick?”
He’s not going to bait me. Nope. I keep a neutral expression. Rewarding him with any sort of response will only feed his obnoxiously huge ego.
Our silent standoff leads him to me. Not what I want. He squats, lowering to his knees then sitting back on his heels in front of me, hands resting on his thighs. “I’m sorry, Josie. Even if I can’t bring myself to regret the path my life has taken, I can promise you that I’ve lived with the pain of knowing that I hurt you.”
I shake my head and start to stand, but he lifts onto his knees and grabs my wrists, guiding me to sit back down on the bed.
“There has to be a way to make things right.”
“There’s not.”
“There must be a way to make things a little less wrong. On the floor in your entry, things felt a little less wrong.” He tries to hide his grin, but a half one pulls at his lips.
This grudge is heavy. It’s exhausting. It’s sticky. I can’t shake it. I don’t want it, but I can’t get past it. An uncrossable sea. I’ve never been able to let things go. Maybe this grudge-holding curse is in my DNA.
“Best sex of my life,” he says.
“I don’t doubt that, but it doesn’t change anything.”
There it is, that showstopping grin. “It’s amazing you’re still single, Josie. With your winning personality and humble spirit, it’s really just … baffling.”
“I need to help my mom with lunch. I’m sure my dad is in the garage. He’ll want to see you first since he likes you better than me.”
“Because he sold me his car?”
“Because you have a penis.”
“Josie, I don’t think your dad has any use for my penis. I mean … I owe him a debt of gratitude for not cutting it off when we were teenagers, but I don’t think he thinks about my penis. But I hope you do. God …” He bites his lip and closes his eyes while easing his head side to side. “I really hope you think about it. I hope you miss it because it sure does miss you.” When he opens his eyes, he frowns. “And can we call it something less clinical than penis?”
“It’s a penis.”
“It’s your best friend.”
“This conversation is over.” I shove his shoulders, and this time he lets me go.